


Hate On Me Hater

by Rrrowr



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion, Alternate Universe - Future, Hate Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-19
Updated: 2012-03-19
Packaged: 2017-11-02 05:06:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/365300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rrrowr/pseuds/Rrrowr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt and Blaine are fashion critics in competition with each other. They have a history of having vastly different opinions, but Kurt is the one with the actual experience in the industry while Blaine is better with his words. Most of the time, their articles end up just being them arguing with each other passive aggressively. </p>
<p>Then they’re forced to interact with each other, face-to-face, at a party and everything goes horribly wrong. (Or right!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hate On Me Hater

The last thing that Kurt wants out of tonight is to share a taxi home with Blaine fucking “writes whatever he wants” Anderson. The man has no taste, no culture, and he’s the biggest fashion critic on the market besides Kurt. Their articles disagreed over every little thing and as such, Kurt didn't expect an in-person meeting to go any better.

To be fair, they managed to avoid each other for most of the night, but then the bar opened up after the runway was done and then Kurt was nursing something fruity and delicious while Blaine was pulled into the group with his plain whiskey on ice and suddenly it was them --shouting at each other about fabrics and designers and patterns while everyone around them went hush and security was called from the sidelines.

Kurt hadn't planned on getting kicked out of the cocktail party with Blaine or being ushered with him into the rear of a taxi by a bouncer. Nevertheless, that's where he is now. A little tipsy still but quickly wearing off the longer they're stuck in traffic. Blaine is a sloppy, sulky mess opposite him, lower lip popped out in a definite pout, and Kurt rolls his eyes as he finds himself thinking that it would be classier of him if he didn’t leave bad blood between them before they leave the taxi. Reputations and all that.

"That piece you did on Gerrovia or something-" Kurt starts.

Blaine glances over at him with a sneer curling his upper lip. "Gerrobina," he corrects.

Kurt nods. "Yeah, that. It was pretty good. Completely _wrong_ of course, but it sounded like you believed what you were saying."

Blaine makes a choked off noise, like he wants to laugh but isn't at all sure if it's appropriate. "If you're going to patronize me, I'd rather you didn't speak at all."

"Can't you just accept a compliment when it's given?"

Blaine eyes him from the other side of the taxi. Kurt knows he's a little drunk; Blaine is usually impassive with his expressions when confronted with Kurt, but getting drink into him seems to remind Blaine that his face is good for something other than looking ridiculously handsome. Being tipsy means that Blaine's annoyance is written all over his face when he turns to look at Kurt fully.

"A compliment? From _you_?" he says, leaning in with false joy climbing into the lines around his mouth and into his eyes. "That's rich! You do nothing but disregard every single word that comes out of my mouth. Nothing I say is good enough. No criticism I give is up to par. My taste in fashion is apparently so gauche and contemptible that you feel the need to take time out of your busy, _busy_ schedule to tell me how very wrong I am.

"Oh, Kurt Hummel, what is a pedestrian like myself to do without someone of your stature to correct my missteps?" Blaine pokes Kurt's chest a couple times with his finger. "You, sir, can take your compliments and shove them up your ass."

Kurt sputters a little. "Why — you!" Blaine leans back, self-satisfaction turning him soft against the taxi door. Kurt wants to strangle him right now. "I was trying to be nice to you, you asshole. Plus where the fuck did you even come from anyway? You just jump into the Times with your pretty words — half a degree, barely any experience, where the rest of us bust our ass to get where we are — and you expect me to like you? You have no taste at all! You barely understand the things you’re talking about and I hate that—"

He breaks off with a strangled half-shout still in his throat and grabs at Blaine's lapels, dragging him in for a kiss because by god, the man doesn't know _anything_ but the way he uses words is so superb and convincing that Kurt hates that he ends up agreeing with Blaine's articles more often than not. He _has_ to write counter-arguments or by god, every standard he's made for himself will go right into the trash.

Blaine bites into the kiss immediately, snarling as he gets his arms between Kurt's and breaks Kurt's hold on him. Then it's Blaine's hands around the back of Kurt's neck, reeling him down while they eat at each other's faces — all gasps and teeth and tongue and growls.

"Fuck," Blaine says when Kurt pulls back just far enough that he can get his teeth on Blaine's jaw. "Fuck, Kurt—"

Kurt shoves him away. "Shut up, I hate your voice."

The taxi pulls up to Kurt's apartment complex first and Kurt glances over at Blaine when he sees him pulling out his wallet. "What the hell are you doing?" he asks.

Blaine smiles and really, it is unfair how his kiss-swollen mouth begs Kurt to bite it again. "I figure if we're gonna fuck," he says, "the least I can do is pay for the taxi."

"Who says we're going to do anything?!" Kurt screeches back.

Pulling back the twenty from between the taxi driver's fingers, Blaine says, "Don't have to."

Blaine licks his lower lip though and Kurt follows the thick push of his tongue for a few seconds before he throws himself out of the taxi. He doesn't pay the driver anything and in a minute, Blaine is on the curb with him, sans twenty, and following him up the stairs to the door.

"Hey—"

Kurt barely lets Blaine get the word out before he's shoving him against the door frame. "Just for your douchey behavior tonight, you get to bottom," he says.

Blaine laughs. "For the first few times, sure."

Kurt has a split second to worry that they're going to have an awkward moment when they get into the apartment, but once that's past, Blaine's up in his person space, fingers sliding over Kurt’s chest and under his jacket. Blaine strips him with the cool efficiency of someone who is used to undressing people, but there’s the edge of hard want that reminds Kurt that the whole reason why they’re here is because they hate each other with a passion that burns hot hot hot.

Blaine’s nails cut into his scalp, carving against the bone and heedless of Kurt’s careful styling. He kisses with a wide mouth and hot breath and doesn’t hesitate to pull Kurt flush against him once they’re naked and just pull himself up with the expectation that Kurt can and will catch him. For that, Kurt pins Blaine against the wall and scratches the underside of Blaine’s thighs hard, but the way Blaine laughs into his mouth — breathless and delighted — it seems that getting pinned was all part of the plan.

It just figures that Blaine is a pushy bottom, too, and a hedonistic one at that. He sprawls across Kurt’s bed like he owns every inch of it, gets his knees under him and his ass in the air, and then throws a dirty look over his shoulder like Kurt isn’t doing anything fast enough, when in fact he’s digging out the lube and condoms.

Kurt isn’t kind for the first round — of however many Blaine thinks that they’re going to have. He gives Blaine minimal lube and sinks balls deep without much preamble while he holds Blaine’s down to the bed by the back of his neck. It’s satisfying to keep Blaine there, to have him squirm and claw at the bed while Kurt fucks relentlessly into him.

For his part, Blaine spreads his legs and arches his back and takes Kurt’s cock like a pro. Kurt shouldn’t be surprised by how easy Blaine does it — especially not since this is the exact behavior that Blaine showed when they first met in person. Blaine preens under attention — any kind, whether it’s positive or negative — and frankly, Kurt isn’t sure which this is. He’s shoving his cock into Blaine’s ass at a pace that must hurt a little, but Blaine just moans and pants and shudders under the onslaught, his whole body blossoming with a lovely, dark blush.

“Yeah,” Kurt says and shoves his hand into Blaine’s hair. He pushes it up roughly and Blaine turns his face into the sheets, baring his neck more fully. “Love my cock, you bastard.”

Blaine laughs — has been doing that a lot this evening — and it’s really fucking annoying. Kurt jerks his cock into Blaine with a few sharp jabs that hitch him closer to the headboard each time. Blaine’s breath punches out of him with each thrust in tiny huffs of sound. He laughs again. Kurt claws down Blaine’s back and grabs his hips, pulling him tight and rolling their hips together. Blaine reaches up for the top of the headboard with both hands, head bowed between his arms, and groans, pushing back and squeezing tight around Kurt’s cock.

“I’m gonna make you come,” Kurt says. “Gonna make you come so hard that you can’t get it up again for a week because it hurts.”

Blaine tosses his head back. His mouth is pursed into a challenging little smile. “Mmhm, sure you are,” he agrees. “And then you’re gonna fly in fresh crepes from France and give me breakfast in bed.” His hips bump Kurt back a few inches and he squirms away. “Try not to make any promises you can’t keep.”

As much as Kurt would really like to shove Blaine back down to the bed, face first, and fuck him until he comes as a kind of ‘Ha! Showed you!’ instead of letting him twist around, he’s sort of helplessly curious about what Blaine has in mind. Blaine maneuvers Kurt onto his back with a grin and straddles his waist without any preamble. Kurt happily grabs onto Blaine’s hips. He intends, as soon as he feels the head of his cock nudging Blaine’s loose, wet opening, on getting Blaine back around his cock as quickly as possible, but Blaine’s got strong legs apparently and sinks no more than an inch before he’s caught himself.

“Oh, no, honey,” Blaine coos as he pries Kurt’s fingers off of him and laces their hands together. “None of that.”

Blaine holds onto Kurt with a hard grip and slowly works his way down Kurt’s cock with rolling hips. In Kurt’s experience, most guys have to reach back and do some encouraging with their fingers, but Kurt’s so hard and Blaine just opens up around him that it just takes slight changes in angle before Kurt’s slipping a little further. Then it’s Blaine settling down and Kurt feeling like he’s never been this deep into someone before and then Blaine swivelling his hips in figure eights and slow, ever widening spirals and then Kurt getting his feet under him and Blaine bouncing on his cock. All of it while Kurt holds up Blaine by his hands as steady as he can like he’s something worth leaning on. 

If anything, being face to face like this, Kurt gets the satisfaction of seeing the pleasure work up through Blaine’s body. Blaine’s cock is leaking all over Kurt’s belly, keeps smacking wetly between their bodies while Blaine moves. His nipples are hard nubs, standing at attention, and Kurt wonders how kinky Blaine might be, if he’s ever thought about getting a piercing or nipple clamps or something. Then, there’s his face — eyes scrunched closed, mouth dropped open, sweat clinging to the edges of his hair, a fierce blush working up under his jaw. 

Blaine gasps desperately for air. “Come on,” he says. “Come on, give it to me. Do me — oh, Kurt—”

Flipping Blaine is easy — easier than Kurt thought it would be, but Blaine is smaller than him and gives way like he wants it and soon Blaine’s knees pull up along Kurt’s ribs, hugging him close. Kurt lets go of Blaine’s hands for just a couple seconds — just long enough to get his arms under Blaine’s legs — but in that time, Blaine grabs onto Kurt’s shoulders. Kurt falls against Blaine’s chest and Blaine’s hands cradle his jaw, tilting his face up at just the right angle for their mouths to meet again.

“Fuck me,” Blaine gasps into the space between them.

“Demanding,” Kurt mutters, turning his head so that he’s the one bearing down on the kiss, so that Blaine is flat against the bed, unable to retreat from the possessive curl of Kurt’s tongue.

Kurt fucks into him slow, figuring him out, finding out what move makes Blaine moan underneath him and then using it against him relentlessly. Blaine’s legs twitch uselessly in the air, held as they are over Kurt’s arms, and it is lovely to feel them tremble desirously underneath him. Blaine arches into him like a cat, rolling into each thrust, and drops his hands to Kurt’s thighs, digging in his nails like he could spur Kurt on like a horse.

“Are you deaf?” Blaine growls. “I told you—”

“Shut up,” Kurt says. “I’ll fuck you however I want.”

And he wants to do this. It has nothing to do with the clutch of Blaine’s fingers at all.

Kurt rears up and holds Blaine’s legs up with his hands. He wants to see Blaine folded in half. He wants to see Blaine’s hard cock between his legs, so long unspent that it’s dark with blood. Kurt wants him so spread open that he can see Blaine’s hungry hole clinging wetly to his cock.

“Grab your knees,” says Kurt.

Blaine does him one better. He grabs onto his ankles and pulls them down. It means his legs are splayed a little wider and his hips are canted up toward Kurt’s still slow thrusts. Blaine’s thighs shake a little more.

“Hurry,” Blaine tells him. “I won’t be able to hold this long.”

Kurt squeezes at the soft underbelly of Blaine’s thighs and this time, he’s the one to laugh. “You will if you want me to keep fucking you.”

Blaine throws his head back in exasperation. “Fuck, come on, just — just do it already.”

So Kurt does. He scoops his hands under Blaine’s ass and holds him up while he pounds into him. Immediately, Blaine thrashes. His fingers go white knuckled around his ankles. His chest heaves for breath. His lashes flutter and his tongue rolls out to rub against the cut of his lower teeth. Kurt shoves two fingers into that open mouth, pushes down at that sinful tongue, and thinks about making Blaine suck on his dick after this.

Blaine is all noise now — moans and half-caught sounds around the length of Kurt’s fingers. He laps at the digits, teeth sinking into the skin over Kurt’s knuckles, and his tongue squeezes between them before he has to back off to catch his breath. Kurt draws back his fingers and puts his hand high on Blaine’s chest, bridging the collar bones with the span of his fingers and presses down.

“Oh,” Blaine gasps. “Yeah, that’s it.”

“Yeah,” Kurt echoes, feeling slightly dizzy with how easy it is for him to want exactly what does it for Blaine. He’s grinning; he can’t help it. “Mine to play with.”

When Blaine comes, it almost surprises Kurt. Of all the things to trigger it, he hadn’t thought those words would be it, but they’re barely out of Kurt’s mouth before he feels Blaine’s body seize around him. His cock pulses hot and then there’s thin ropes of come all over Blaine’s chest and more puddling out as Kurt continues to fuck it out of him. Blaine moans weakly when Kurt wraps a hand around his cock, milking out the last of his come until Blaine starts to complain.

Blaine’s come clings to Kurt’s fingers like a web. He slides out of Blaine’s hole, discarding the condom, and wraps his come-slick fingers around his dick for a couple pulls while Blaine lets down his legs and rests limply in the sheets. Blaine licks his lips and Kurt’s straddling his face before Blaine even waves his hand to encourage him.

“Shit, your mouth,” Kurt groans as Blaine takes his dick between his lips.

Blaine is all soft, wet heat around him and as soon as Kurt’s cock nudges the back of his mouth, Blaine sucks him hard, taking long pulls as if he wants to drag the come out of Kurt’s body with his teeth. Kurt cups the back of his skull and thrusts shallowly forward. Just like the rest of him, Blaine’s throat opens up easily and Kurt sinks down to the root.

“Made for this,” Kurt says breathlessly, pulling back only to feel Blaine’s tongue circle the tip of him. “Made to be fucked.”

Blaine hums his agreement and clutches at Kurt’s ass, encouraging him deeper and faster and for longer. Soon, Kurt is looking down at Blaine, at the way he has his nose buried in Kurt’s hair with his lips wrapped wide around his cock, and feeling Blaine’s tongue move in aborted panicked twitches and his throat clench around him. He comes with almost no sound at all and holds Blaine in place with a fist in his hair until he’s done.

Blaine pulls off him with a hard gasp. Every breath sounds just a bit ragged and when he says, “Well?” his voice sounds raspy, well-fucked.

“Well what?” Kurt asks.

Blaine grins and wraps a hand around his dick, which is half-hard again and getting harder. “D’you feel up for a second round or have I worn you out already?”

“Worn me out?” Kurt’s voice has gone disconcertingly high. He scrambles to cover Blaine’s body with his own and kisses him long and deep, pulling at his lower lip when he retreats. “Like hell you’d ever be able to wear me out.”


End file.
